Read Online Everything and Nothing by Araminta Hall - Free Book Online
Authors: Araminta Hall
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Betty as the doors whipped shut.
Ruth spun round in time to see the grotesque plastic doll fall under the train.
‘We’re going to kill my Brat,’ wailed Betty as the train crunched off.
‘Don’t worry, sweetheart, I’ll get you another one,’ said Ruth, secretly pleased because those dolls could give women a complex all on their own and yet Ruth was sure she’d read they were the bestselling toys out there. They made Barbie and Sindy look like nuns, with their ridiculously provocative bodies that could only have been dreamt up by a fetishist. And their facial features were no more than an advert for plastic surgery, not to mention their clothes, which would make a street-walker blush. One day she would muster the energy to explain to Betty why it was neither clever nor cool to own such toys, why being a woman was about so much more than how you looked, why . . . God, she couldn’t think straight against the unrelenting screech of Betty’s hysterics.
Christian knew Toby was right about Sarah, but he’d also known that he would find it impossible not to meet her for lunch. He arrived first at the Italian restaurant a few roads away from his office and chose a table at the back. The table was too small and intimate, with its depressing red-and-white checked plastic tablecloth and obligatory vase of breadsticks. Ruth would laugh at the framed photo of the Pope above the entrance to the toilets; he could imagine her saying that it didn’t bode well for the food.
Sarah was an acceptable ten minutes late but she arrived looking embarrassed and flustered. She turned to the side as she squeezed into her seat opposite him and he could see how much weight she had lost, she almost looked like one of those models in Ruth’s magazine. Today she was wearing black trousers with a black T-shirt and a leopard-print scarf tied round her neck. Her once blonde hair hung loose around her shoulders and there was only the faintest trace of make-up on her eyes. He knew it was wrong to find her as attractive as he did.
‘I’m sorry to have called,’ she said immediately. ‘But it was all too weird.’
‘No, it’s nice. It was the right thing to do.’ Christian pointed to the bottle of wine he wanted, it seemed unlikely that he could get through this without alcohol.
Sarah was nervous, he realised; she kept on re-adjusting her scarf and he noticed the red rash creeping up under her chin like some sort of rampant ivy.
‘Anyway,’ she said, breaking a breadstick but not eating it, ‘new job?’
‘Yeah, I’ve been there nearly two years now.’
‘And it’s okay?’
‘Well, you know, as okay as jobs ever are.’
‘But you’ve done well.’
Christian tried to hear a note of sarcasm in her voice, but couldn’t find it there. He nodded and knew that he had to return like some semi-pro tennis player. ‘And what about you, what have you been up to?’
‘Well, I’ve mainly been living in Australia.’ She looked down and crumbled more of the breadstick. Their wine arrived and Christian poured them both a glass.
‘Australia. Wow.’ He wanted to leave. He had always hated anyone who went to Australia for anything other than a holiday.
‘Yeah, it was great.’ He could tell she wanted to say something and so he let the silence build. Sarah tucked her hair behind her ears incessantly. ‘After the, you know, miscarriage, I went back to my mum and dad’s for a while and then I thought, fuck it, I’m going to get on a plane, and I ended up in Sydney and I met someone and stayed for two years.’
Christian liked the sound of someone, it had been foolish to imagine she’d been pining after him. ‘Great. Did you work?’
‘Only bar work and stuff. It’s much easier to get by over there.’
Sarah chatted on about the weather and the standard of living and the beaches, stuff Christian had heard countless times before. It seemed implausible that he had nearly left Ruth for this woman. With the flip of a dice
Ruth spun round in time to see the grotesque plastic doll fall under the train.
‘We’re going to kill my Brat,’ wailed Betty as the train crunched off.
‘Don’t worry, sweetheart, I’ll get you another one,’ said Ruth, secretly pleased because those dolls could give women a complex all on their own and yet Ruth was sure she’d read they were the bestselling toys out there. They made Barbie and Sindy look like nuns, with their ridiculously provocative bodies that could only have been dreamt up by a fetishist. And their facial features were no more than an advert for plastic surgery, not to mention their clothes, which would make a street-walker blush. One day she would muster the energy to explain to Betty why it was neither clever nor cool to own such toys, why being a woman was about so much more than how you looked, why . . . God, she couldn’t think straight against the unrelenting screech of Betty’s hysterics.
Christian knew Toby was right about Sarah, but he’d also known that he would find it impossible not to meet her for lunch. He arrived first at the Italian restaurant a few roads away from his office and chose a table at the back. The table was too small and intimate, with its depressing red-and-white checked plastic tablecloth and obligatory vase of breadsticks. Ruth would laugh at the framed photo of the Pope above the entrance to the toilets; he could imagine her saying that it didn’t bode well for the food.
Sarah was an acceptable ten minutes late but she arrived looking embarrassed and flustered. She turned to the side as she squeezed into her seat opposite him and he could see how much weight she had lost, she almost looked like one of those models in Ruth’s magazine. Today she was wearing black trousers with a black T-shirt and a leopard-print scarf tied round her neck. Her once blonde hair hung loose around her shoulders and there was only the faintest trace of make-up on her eyes. He knew it was wrong to find her as attractive as he did.
‘I’m sorry to have called,’ she said immediately. ‘But it was all too weird.’
‘No, it’s nice. It was the right thing to do.’ Christian pointed to the bottle of wine he wanted, it seemed unlikely that he could get through this without alcohol.
Sarah was nervous, he realised; she kept on re-adjusting her scarf and he noticed the red rash creeping up under her chin like some sort of rampant ivy.
‘Anyway,’ she said, breaking a breadstick but not eating it, ‘new job?’
‘Yeah, I’ve been there nearly two years now.’
‘And it’s okay?’
‘Well, you know, as okay as jobs ever are.’
‘But you’ve done well.’
Christian tried to hear a note of sarcasm in her voice, but couldn’t find it there. He nodded and knew that he had to return like some semi-pro tennis player. ‘And what about you, what have you been up to?’
‘Well, I’ve mainly been living in Australia.’ She looked down and crumbled more of the breadstick. Their wine arrived and Christian poured them both a glass.
‘Australia. Wow.’ He wanted to leave. He had always hated anyone who went to Australia for anything other than a holiday.
‘Yeah, it was great.’ He could tell she wanted to say something and so he let the silence build. Sarah tucked her hair behind her ears incessantly. ‘After the, you know, miscarriage, I went back to my mum and dad’s for a while and then I thought, fuck it, I’m going to get on a plane, and I ended up in Sydney and I met someone and stayed for two years.’
Christian liked the sound of someone, it had been foolish to imagine she’d been pining after him. ‘Great. Did you work?’
‘Only bar work and stuff. It’s much easier to get by over there.’
Sarah chatted on about the weather and the standard of living and the beaches, stuff Christian had heard countless times before. It seemed implausible that he had nearly left Ruth for this woman. With the flip of a dice
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